


golden hour

by Lee420



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: (kinda), Character Study, Friendship, Gen, I guess???, Light Angst, Not Beta Read, anyways. yoshida’s rollbook time profile huh, idk what to tag tbh ksdjsjd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:15:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28272252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lee420/pseuds/Lee420
Summary: “He’s been on that page for a good ten minutes now, Muramatsu muses, watching Yoshida from the corner of his eye while washing dishes. It’s already been half an hour since Terasaka left (something about having to look after his sister), but Yoshida still doesn’t show any signs of leaving any time soon.”or, snippets of Yoshida, Muramatsu, and their fellowship. through their year with 3e and beyond.
Relationships: Muramatsu Takuya & Yoshida Taisei
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	golden hour

**Author's Note:**

> im so happy i finally finished this . anyways i hope it’s ok + i hope u enjoy!! i love these two sm :’)

_He’s been on that page for a good ten minutes now_ , Muramatsu muses, watching Yoshida from the corner of his eye while washing dishes. It’s already been half an hour since Terasaka left (something about having to look after his sister), but Yoshida still doesn’t show any signs of leaving any time soon. 

_He_ **_has_ ** _been pretty quiet recently_ , Muramatsu thinks as he scrapes leftover ramen into the garbage disposal. Which is to be expected really, being sent to the “End Class” isn’t exactly a prompt for celebration. But still, it’s not _that_ big of a deal… 

In his opinion, anyway. 

“Hey,” Yoshida finally tears his eyes away from his magazine.

“Hm?”

“I was thinkin’ about giving my bike a spin, you wanna come with?”

Muramatsu blinks and tilts his head somewhat, “Sure, let me finish clearin’ up first, though.”

Yoshida just nods in response and goes back to reading — well, more _staring at_ really — his motorcycle magazine, resting his cheek on his palm. 

“‘Kay I’m done,” Muramatsu says after a few minutes, hanging his apron up and giving the counter a final quick wipe down. 

“Cool,” Yoshida stretches and pushes himself up from his seat, stuffing his magazine back into the depths of his school bag. He offers Muramatsu a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes the way it normally does. 

Their walk to Yoshida Motors is one of relative silence. Not exactly uncomfortable, but not exactly comfortable either. Muramatsu furrows his brows and spares a glance at his slightly shorter friend, who stares ahead impassively, both hands in pockets. Muramatsu internally groans, _seriously, when’d he get so hard to read_?

He’s never been more thankful for the quick walk from his ramen shop to Yoshida Motors, as the silence is short-lived, and Yoshida’s expression lights up in the early evening sun at the sight of his racetrack. 

“We’re here,” he grins, not giving Muramatsu a moment to even breathe as he grabs his wrist and makes a dash for the garage.

After three tries and half a can of Monster Energy, Yoshida finally manages to unlock the garage and push the door up with a small cheer. He disappears inside, returning a moment later with two helmets — one of which he chucks to Muramatsu, who catches it with ease.

Watching him wander back inside the garage, Muramatsu sighs, a fond smile tugging at his lips, and lifts himself up from his crouched position where he’d been idly picking at the grass, helmet tucked under his arm. He’s never ridden a motorcycle before, much less behind someone else, but Yoshida’s hard to say no to when he’s so excited. And especially when he’s been so withdrawn lately, the return of his familiar grin is welcomed. 

“Okay,” Yoshida says, walking his motorcycle out the garage, “you’ve prolly never been on one of these before, but I’m positive you’ll love it. It _does_ take some gettin’ used to, though.”

“Right,” Muramatsu approaches it with caution, he never realized just how big these things are… “uh, any safety precautions I should know about?”

“Just hold on to me. Oh, and be careful not to burn yourself on the exhaust pipe. ‘Cause that hurts.”

“Gotcha.”

Muramatsu copies how Yoshida climbs onto the motorcycle and secures his helmet on his head. It only now occurs to him that they should be wearing some sort of protective clothing, but he shakes it off. He trusts Yoshida, and if he had considered it important he’s sure he would’ve taken it into account. 

“Yeah, just hold onto my hips an’ try not to move too much,” Yoshida calls from in front of him, “you’ll put the bike off-balance if ya do.”

Muramatsu does just that and tries not to think about the growing sense of nervousness in his chest. 

“Ya ready?”

Muramatsu takes a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Yoshida lets out a cheer and before he knows it, Muramatsu’s going at a speed he never imagined possible. And at once his senses are heightened, everything from the ambrosial April petrichor to the smells of far away bonfire smoke hits him in a jumbled mess of scents. He registers every change in temperature, every variation in wind speed. He can’t see anything, what he does see is blurred and gone before it appears. It’s terrifying. Muramatsu’s pretty sure he’s screaming. He instinctively tightens his grip on Yoshida, who hasn’t stopped laughing since they took off. 

The ride ends after what both feels like a year and 30 seconds, Yoshida brakes and helps Muramatsu off, but when he lets go and helps him get his helmet off, Muramatsu collapses in an instant. 

“Woah, you okay?” Yoshida asks through laughs, an exhilarated grin still prominent on his face. 

“Dizzy. The world’s spinning,” Muramatsu manages, trying and failing to prop himself up on his elbows. 

“Takes ya mind off things though, huh?”

Muramatsu squints at the three Yoshidas swimming in his vision, “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

Yoshida offers him his hand to help him back up, still smirking. Muramatsu takes with a grateful yet still wonky smile, but Yoshida’s attempts to pull him up just end with Muramatsu, in his dizzy state, accidentally yanking him down next to him. Yoshida hits the grass with an “oof”, and there’s a beat of silence before they both burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Wow,” Yoshida says through giggles, “you’re _really_ out of it.”

“Shut it,” Muramatsu retorts, aiming a light punch at his shoulder which hits his cheek instead, only causing Yoshida to laugh harder. “S’not my fault I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before.”

“Still,” Yoshida says, laughter having devolved into wheezes, “I’ve never seen someone react like _that_ before.”

“Whatever,” Muramatsu huffs and finally manages to lift himself into an upright position. 

He watches golden sunlight stretch across the racetrack, highlighting the dew soaked grass, in a tranquility broken every so often by the remainder of Yoshida’s laughs. _He’s brightened up_ , Muramatsu thinks with a small smile, _kinda amazing how quickly motorcycles can do that to him_.

“Urgh, my stomach hurts now,” Yoshida groans and lies back on the grass. 

“That’s your fault.”

“Rude.”

Muramatsu snickers as Yoshida chucks a handful of grass blades at him. 

“By the way,” Yoshida says after another beat of silence, “sorry I’ve been acting kinda weird lately. I know you ‘n’ Terasaka don’t think getting sent to Class E is a big deal, but I dunno. It just feels like a big deal. To me, that is. Y’know?”

“Yeah, I get you, no one’s gonna fault you for feeling disappointed about it.”

“Thanks,” Yoshida shoots him a smile, one that _does_ reach his eyes, “I’m just—”

Muramatsu quirks an eyebrow when he suddenly averts his gaze and cuts himself off, “What?”

“Nevermind. It’s too cheesy.”

“Well now I _have_ to know.”

“Fine,” Yoshida takes a deep breath and looks at him again, “I just…think I’m lucky to have you with me, I guess. You and Terasaka.”

Muramatsu blinks, “Huh.”

“Sorry, that was weird,” Yoshida covers his face with his arm.

Muramatsu shakes his head. “Nah. I feel the same way actually, I’m glad to have you two with me as well. Makes the situation a whole less shitty if you have people by ya side, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Yoshida sends one last grin his way before jumping to his feet, “well I’d better put my bike away. Unless ya want another go?” 

“No chance,” Muramatsu rolls his eyes and is able to accept his offered hand without any accident.

“Shame,” Yoshida smirks.

══════════════════

Muramatsu sets down a slightly cracked, sage green bucket on a rock near the crystal-clear creek, watching several catfish and goby swim idly among the stones and freshwater plants.

“Have ya got the fishing rods?” He calls to Yoshida, crouching just in front of the creek.

“Yeah, yeah,” Yoshida waves the battered fishing rods at him, “can ya even catch fish with these things though? They don’t exactly look…new.”

“Hey, they work fine.”

“If ya say so,” Yoshida shrugs, “don’t see why we can’t just buy fish from the store, though.”

“‘Cause they’re not as fresh there,” Muramatsu replies, “if we want 100% on this home ec exam we have to go all out.”

“I guess…”

Muramatsu rummages around in his backpack for his fishing lures, mentally wincing at the amount of energy drinks Yoshida had stuffed in there before they left. _Those are gonna kill him one day_ , he thinks with a shake of his head. After a minute of searching he finally pulls out a quaint little tin drowned in vivid stickers of cartoon characters, and opens it to retrieve his fishing lures. 

“Right,” he says, returning the tin to his bag and zipping it shut, “first things first— what are you doing?”

“Hm?” Yoshida looks up from rolling up his pants legs, “Oh, I just thought it’d be a lot quicker to just, y’know, grab the fish instead of waiting for you to get whatever those are.”

“Fishing lures. They’re called fishing lures,” Muramatsu says, “and that’s a terrible idea.”

“Is it? Watch,” Yoshida grins, rolling up his sleeves and approaching the creek. 

Muramatsu sits on a rock and cracks open one of Yoshida’s energy drinks, squinting as the sun reflects off the water. This can only end in disaster, and he’s pretty sure Yoshida knows that too. 

Yoshida stands in the middle of the creek, between two rocks and where the water starts to curve through the rest of the forest. He sticks his tongue out in concentration and lowers himself into what looks like some sort of battle stance. With a mighty yell he plunges his hands into the water, Muramatsu starts shaking with silent laughter as he watches him wrestle with something underwater, laughter that turns to an exclamation of shock when Yoshida triumphantly holds a catfish over his head. 

“Behold!” He shouts, “A fish!”

He starts snickering at Muramatsu’s expression, which turns out to be a mistake as the catfish begins thrashing in his grip, sending him off-balance and into the creek with a splash. 

There’s a moment of silence where they just stare at each other. Then Muramatsu breaks into a wide grin and falls into peals of uncontrollable laughter. When he eventually looks back up at Yoshida’s soggy form, he finds him smiling at him.

“What?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” Yoshida says, standing up and starting to wring out his sweater, “you just seemed pretty tense before, so it’s good to see you laugh.”

“Tense?”

“Worrying ‘bout the home ec exam an’ stuff,” he replies and retrieves his shoes from the edge of the creek, “I thought you needed somethin’ to loosen you up, that’s all.”

“Huh,” Muramatsu says, a smile working its way onto his face, “thanks.”

Yoshida waves him off and starts removing his soaked sweater, hanging it on a nearby branch and grabbing the fishing rods from their leaning position against a tree. 

“Anyway,” he says, offering a rod to Muramatsu, “time for some real fishing, don’cha think?”

“Yeah,” Muramatsu smiles, in a tone considerably more relaxed than before. How Yoshida has that effect on him, he doesn’t know. But he’s grateful.

══════════════════

“They’re back,” Takebayashi tells them when he gets back from the beach, “and they’re safe.”

Hazama lets out a relieved sigh from beside him, and Muramatsu mimics the motion. It’s only been an hour since those not infected left, and it’s been hard to think about anything other than the virus attacking them, but the atmosphere at the hotel had been thick with tension.

The uninfected students begin to trickle in shortly after Takebayashi’s announcement, the teachers accompanying them. 

“Do ya see them?” Muramatsu mumbles to Hazama, who gives a small shake of her head in response. 

“Not yet,” she says, voice heavy with exhaustion, “but I’m sure they’ll be here any second. You know what they’re like.”

Her words ring true as they’re both engulfed in a hug moments later, courtesy of Terasaka and Yoshida. The former breathing heavily, cheeks flushed and hug less firm than what it would be usually.

“You’re sick too,” Hazama says, “why’d you go with them? Idiot.”

“I’ve let everyone down enough,” is all Terasaka gives as a response, before pulling away. 

“Didn’t have to risk your health though,” Yoshida says in a quiet voice, before copying Terasaka’s action and sitting on the wood panelled floor. 

Terasaka shrugs. “S’not like anyone’s gonna die. The virus is a hoax.”

Muramatsu and Hazama blink blearily at him for a few seconds, eyes windening when his words finally register.

“Wait, really?” Muramatsu asks, “we’re gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” Terasaka hums, “we just need to sleep it off.”

Muramatsu’s about to respond, but is distracted by Yoshida suddenly standing and excusing himself, and he watches as he goes to talk to Hara. Not missing the way his fists clench by his side. 

“What’s with him?” Hazama asks.

“Dunno,” says Terasaka, “I mean, I’ve got an idea but I dunno exactly. He’s been actin’ weird since we got back.”

He’s still acting strange when they go to bed that night, Muramatsu notes. It’s two people per hotel room, so he feels lucky he got Yoshida, but he also feels bad for Isogai and Kimura...rooming with Karma or Okajima didn’t exactly seem fun. 

In any case, by the time Karasuma calls for lights out, Yoshida’s barely spoken a word to him. Or Terasaka. Or Hazama. 

Muramatsu sighs and stares at the lump of covers at the other side of the room. “Hey,” he whisper-shouts, “Yoshida.”

The lump of covers moves and Yoshida stares back at him, gaze tired. “What.”

Muramatsu opens his mouth but finds he doesn’t quite know what to say, so he settles for shifting his position and leaning against the headboard of his bed. Yoshida tracks his movements carefully, then rolls onto his back when Muramatsu doesn’t say anything. 

“Are...are you okay?” Muramatsu finally says. 

“Why d’you ask?”

“You just seem…” he pauses to think of the right word, “kinda distant I guess? Since you ‘n’ the others got back.”

Yoshida’s quiet again. A branch outside drums against their window and faint moonlight stretches across the room, passing over Muramatsu and illuminating Yoshida’s bed. 

It’s then when Muramatsu realizes he’s crying. Shaking with silent sobs, tears dribbling down his cheeks. Muramatsu stumbles out of bed at once, eyes wide, not too sure what to say. But he’s at his side in an instant. 

“I just...” Yoshida pauses to take a few shaky breaths, “I was just...scared. Of losing you guys.

“Like, you guys are my closest friends right? I…” he swallows thickly, “I love you guys. I dunno what I’d do without you. So...when I thought you were gonna die...when we realized Terasaka had the virus too, I just…”

He trails off, staring at his clenched hands. But Muramatsu understands. 

“Can I come up? Ya look like you could do with a hug.”

Yoshida makes a sound that’s a mixture of a laugh and a cough, but he nods, propping himself up on trembling arms and scooching to make room. 

“You’re allowed to cry, y’know,” Muramatsu says upon noticing his scrunched face and the repetitive wiping of his nose on his sleeve, “I’m not gonna judge you.”

“Yeah. It’s just...embarrassing,” Yoshida responds.

“You might feel better if you do.”

“I guess.”

Their breathing gradually syncs up with one another, and Muramatsu feels Yoshida relax beside him, starting to lean on him for support. 

“Hey,” Yoshida mumbles just as Muramatsu’s dozing off.

“Hm?”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Muramatsu turns to flash him a grin, “I’m always here if ya need me. You know that right?”

Yoshida gives him a wobbly smile of his own. “Yeah.”

══════════════════

“Let’s see...okay. What’s the equation for pythagoras theorem?” Yoshida asks, flicking through a stack of math flashcards.

“Uh,” Muramatsu frowns as he reaches for a handful of chips, “C squared equals A squared plus B squared, right?”

“You got it,” Yoshida stretches, pushing himself up from his position beside the kotatsu, “wanna take a break now?”

“Sure.”

Yoshida beckons for him to follow him, and wanders upstairs. “I’ve been meaning to show you somethin’ actually, but you can’t tell Itona.”

That piques Muramatsu interest, so he trails after him, only stopping to grab another fistful of potato chips from the brightly patterned bowl on the kotatsu. 

Yoshida’s room is messy, with scattered spare parts and rough sketches of various vehicles littering the floor. There’s a stash of motorcycle magazines by his bed, and posters depicting everything from steam locomotives to jet planes covering every inch of the wallpaper. Muramatsu stands in the doorway, watching Yoshida retrieve something wrapped in cloth from under his desk. 

“Itona told me the other day that he couldn’t remember the last time someone gave him an actual gift, so, well, I thought I’d make something for him. From all of us,” Yoshida unwraps the cloth to reveal a shoebox. 

Muramatsu leans over his shoulder to watch him open the box, eyes widening when he sees what’s inside. 

Tiny metal vehicles. A tank. A train. A motorcycle. A truck. Unpainted, but still so detailed. 

“I haven’t got round to painting them or anything yet, I’ll prolly have to ask Sugaya for help with that. And they’re not electric, obviously, but I thought he’d appreciate it. Hopefully. I mean, they did take ages to build after all.”

“Holy shit,” Muramatsu picks up the miniture tank and holds it up to the light, inspecting it from different angles, “it’s so detailed, how d’you do it?”

Yoshida just lets out a sheepish chuckle and gestures to the messy room around him, “Let’s just say I know a thing or two about vehicles, huh?”

Muramatsu only nods, still in awe, and places the tank back in the shoebox. 

“Are the vehicles supposed to represent anything or…?” he asks, watching Yoshida place the wrapped box securely under his desk once more. 

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Ominous.”

With a laugh, Yoshida gestures for Muramatsu to follow him back downstairs. Muramatsu follows, and notices for the first time when going down the staircase, the plethora of pictures hanging on the wall. He doesn’t know how he never saw them before, they’re literally _everywhere_. Most of them displaying a younger Yoshida and another kid.

“Oi, what’s this?” he questions, stopping on the staircase to better examine the photos.

Yoshida hums and turns to face him, expression immediately morphing into one of mild embarrassment upon seeing the photos. 

“Ah, well y’know how I’ve mentioned how mine ‘n’ Hara’s families are pretty close?”

“No way.”

“Yup.”

Muramatsu starts snickering and whips his phone out of his pocket, snapping a photo of the first picture he sees before Yoshida can say anything. It’s one showing a younger Yoshida and Hara in the kitchen, baking and making a complete mess, but grinning sunnily nonetheless. 

“Oh I’m so gonna show this to the others later—” Muramatsu’s cut off by Yoshida tackling him and snatching away his phone, “Hey!”

Yoshida ignores his protests and deletes the photo from his camera roll, slipping Muramatsu’s phone into his pocket and making his way back to where they were studying. He’s halfway back to the lounge when Muramatsu catches up and tackles _him_ instead, pinning him down and regaining his phone. 

“ _Please_ don’t send that picture to Hazama, she’ll never give me a moment of peace,” he groans, trying to shove Muramatsu off him.

“Too late,” Muramatsu grins, and moments later a ping sounds from Yoshida’s phone, signalling the photo had indeed been sent to the group chat. 

“I hate you.”

Muramatsu only laughs.

══════════════════

Muramatsu finds Yoshida sitting at a table in the far-end of the bustling coffee shop, and slips into the cushioned seat opposite him. 

“You took ya time, did you get lost?”

“Shut up,” is all Muramatsu says as he hangs his coat on the back of his chair.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Yoshida smirks and takes a bite out of his muffin.

“Whatever. Where’re the others?” Muramatsu asks.

“Terasaka ‘n’ Itona had to run some errands and Hazama has ballet, they’ll be here in a bit.”

Yoshida brushes leftover crumbs from his chin and slides another muffin across the table to Muramatsu, who accepts it with a smile of thanks. It’s blueberry, he notes as he bites into it, his favorite. A feeling of fuzzy warmth blossoms in his chest at the realisation, and he’s suddenly left with a twinge of guilt for not knowing Yoshida’s favorite type of muffin. 

Winter break’s been proving tough for them all, judging by the most recent conversations on the class group chat. Muramatsu scrolls through the newest messages, letting out a chuckle at Nakamura’s selfies of her and Hayami at an ice rink captioned: “skating the pain away” followed by a string of unfitting emojis. Yoshida raises an eyebrow at him from over his energy drink, so Muramatsu shows him his screen, watching as Yoshida’s mouth curls into an amused smile and as he shakes his head.

“Our classmates are somethin’ else,” he says.

“Yeah,” Muramatsu replies, then grins, “but, personally, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Yoshida finishes his muffin and checks his phone, frowning at the time displayed on the screen, “the others should be here by now...and it’s gettin’ dark so this place’ll be closing soon.”

“We might as well leave then,” Muramatsu shrugs, “we can just explain to ‘em later if they ask.”

“Fair enough, I’ll walk you back then.”

“How courteous,” Muramatsu smirks, snickering when Yoshida delivers a light swat to his shoulder.

They tuck in their chairs, abandoning their muffin wrappers and Yoshida’s empty energy drink can on the table, and make their way to the coffee shop’s exit. The late afternoon winter sun dips low beneath the horizon, painting the pavement with hues of amber and gold. 

“Hey, d’you want to have dinner at my house? I have a new ramen recipe I wanna try,” Muramatsu says, zipping up his coat. 

“Sure, why not, I’ll have to tell my mom though, hang on,” Yoshida fishes his phone from his jacket pocket, pausing for a second to shoot his mom a text, nodding a few moments later at the response and sending Muramatsu a thumbs up. 

They make idle chatter on the way to Muramatsu’s house, as the sky transforms from an arctic blue to a pleasant pastel pink, wispy, dancing clouds forever remaining. Airplanes make noisy patterns in the sky, blending with the songs of birds from high-up rooftops. 

Muramatsu’s surprised by the normalcy of it all. How comfortable it all feels. He settles his gaze on Yoshida ambling beside him, he’s mid-laugh, telling a story about what happened last time Itona slept over at his house. He seems to almost glow in the crepuscle light. 

“You know,” Yoshida says when he notices Muramatsu’s staring, “it’s kinda insane how, in a few months, it could all be over.”

Muramatsu tilts his head in response, “What d’you mean?”

“Koro-sensei.”

Oh. Yeah. Muramatsu’s been avoiding thinking about that, to be honest. 

“I don’t want him to die,” Yoshida says in a low voice when Muramatsu doesn’t respond, “but I…”

“Yeah?” Muramatsu prompts, studying the others expression, watching as several different emotions seem to flicker in his dark eyes.

“I...want to kill him, too. If we can find a way to save him then great — I’ll be more than happy. But I can’t help feeling that...I dunno. Forget it,” Yoshida averts his gaze and trains his eyes on an airplane swimming in the sky.

“No,” Muramatsu eventually replies, “I know what you mean.”

By the time they reach Muramatsu’s house, the sky’s altered from pink, to periwinkle, to deep purple. The faintest, polar white stars making themselves known among the flickering orange planes. The Kunugigaoka mountains bathe in silvery moonlight, emitting from a crescent, half blown up moon. 

══════════════════

The laser being fired down at the mountain sends 3-E into a spiral of panic, Muramatsu is no exception. He throws on his coat, skimming the influx of messages from the group chat and dashing to join the others. 

He only stops to catch his breath when he meets Yoshida halfway, they share a look of understanding before they start running again, this time completely harmonized. 

As they reach their classmates they attract an immediate swarm of journalists, who hound them with questions of Koro-sensei. Their teacher. Their teacher who’s on an ever quickening road to death. 

Muramatsu can’t help feeling frustrated it has to end this way. 

══════════════════

Graduation. The past few days have been both a blur and painfully stretched out.

Muramatsu finds Yoshida in the crowd of students, he’s scuffing the floor with his shoe, looking somewhat uncomfortable in the proper school uniform. 

“Hi,” Muramatsu lifts his hand in a wave.

“Hi,” Yoshida echoes, offering a brittle smile.

“Graduation, huh? This year feels like it went on forever.”

“Yeah…”

They stand, staring at each other, Muramatsu notes that Yoshida’s had a growth spurt. He might be taller than him now. They move at the same time, both going in for a hug. And by the way Yoshida’s clinging onto him, you would think it’s the last time he’ll see him.

But that’s not the case, he’ll make sure of it.

“The others are waitin’ outside,” Yoshida mumbles, head buried into his shoulder, “we’re gonna take a group photo.”

“I thought Hazama hated having pictures taken of her?” Muramatsu asks as Yoshida pulls away, an action he tries not to feel too disappointed about.

“She said she’ll make an exception, just this once.”

Muramatsu nods and lets himself be pulled outside, they stop every so often to talk to other members of 3-E. Sugaya’s giving out portraits to their respective classmates, Okajima’s taking photos with everyone, Hara’s taken the trouble to make everyone personalized bentos (“As a memento,” she says with a warm smile). Muramatsu’s eyes start to sting as it registers — he’ll really miss this class. He doesn’t know if he’s ready for it to be over so soon.

“I haven’t given Itona his gift yet,” Yoshida says as they near the exit of the auditorium, “didn’t feel right.”

“Yeah, I get you.”

Yoshida looks at him with a soft smile, one that reaches his eyes. And in that moment, it feels like they’re the only ones there, crowds of students seem to disappear. 

And Muramatsu returns it.

══════════════════

“Takuya!” one of his colleagues, Seiya, calls from the front of the shop, “Taisei’s here to see ya!”

“Coming!” Muramatsu hurriedly stacks empty bowls on the self and reties his apron, then rushes to the front, trying and failing to hide the excitement he’s filled with whenever he comes to visit. 

Sitting behind the counter, with his motor oil-stained cheek resting on his palm and illuminated by golden postmeridian rays of sun, Yoshida waves him over.

“Hey,” he says, a familiar grin lighting up his face. 

Muramatsu returns it with ease, “The usual, I assume?”

“You know it.”

They spend the rest of the evening talking like they were never apart, eating ramen and chugging copious amounts of energy drink. And as laughter echoes around a ramen shop so familiar, Muramatsu wouldn’t change a thing. 

  
  
  



End file.
